“Marry her and forget I’m your mother!”—but he did things his own way.
“Listen up, lads—I’m getting married!” announced Oliver, bursting into the office on Monday morning.
His colleagues nearly choked on their tea.
“Are you alright? Checked your temperature?” was Dan’s first reaction.
“Relax, I’m proper chuffed. Found ‘the one.’ None of that ‘let’s see how it goes’ rubbish—straight to the point.”
“Hold on… Last week you said all women were the same and you were on a ‘detox’!” laughed Tom.
“Can’t believe it myself,” Oliver grinned. “But she’s different. Emily—not one for mind games or drama. Straightforward, honest, no nonsense.”
“Does that even exist?”
“Dead serious. Met her in the comments under a post about films. Then DMs, then a proper date. First thing she says? ‘Don’t bother with flowers—I’m allergic.’ So I ask, ‘Chocolates then?’ She goes, ‘These are the ones I like,’ and sends me links.”
The office erupted in laughter.
“Then cinema, then a walk, then… you get the idea. No guessing games, no ‘read my mind.’ This morning, she hands me the bin bag and says, ‘Take this out.’ No fuss, no sulking. Absolute dream!”
“Blimey, mate, you’ve found the exact opposite of your mum!” Dan ribbed.
“Don’t even start,” Oliver muttered—though privately, he agreed.
His mum was… complicated. Everything had to be a battle, always playing the victim, always guilt-tripping. His dad had walked out years ago, and the second Oliver got the keys to his own flat, he dialled back contact.
Weirdly, all his exes had acted just like her—till Emily. Like she was from another planet. No surprise he decided to introduce her to his mum. Even though he knew she’d hate her.
And she did.
The moment they walked in, his mum fussed over the dinner table. Emily offered to help—politely refused. Twenty minutes in, the complaints started: “No one ever lifts a finger!” But Emily just nodded—”Yeah, same at my work. Everyone acts like royalty while I do the graft.”
His mum looked ready to explode.
“She didn’t like me,” Emily smirked as they left.
Then—the call. His mum, hysterical.
“Rude! Heartless! Marry her and forget you have a mother!”
“Fine by me,” Oliver said calmly, and hung up.
“Mum’s forbidden me to marry you,” he told Emily.
“Were you planning to?”
“If you’ll have me—registry office tomorrow.”
“Deal. One condition.”
“Go on.”
“If your mum visits more than once a month, I’m moving in with mine. And trust me, she’s worse—plus she’ll bring her mates.”
“Fair enough,” Oliver conceded. “Might just… not invite her to the wedding.”
“She’ll be furious.”
“Better furious after than ruining the day.”
Two months later, they tied the knot. Small do—close mates, Emily’s few girlfriends, zero pretence.
Oliver’s mum? Didn’t show. Spent months texting guilt trips.
But at the reception, Emily’s mate Lucy caught the bouquet—and ended up on a date with Tom. Three months later, he strode into the office:
“Lads, I’m getting married!”
Then Steve. Then Dan. All suddenly finding “no-nonsense” women. When the last bachelor fell, a random waitress caught the bouquet. The groom’s brother marched over:
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve got to marry you now—tradition, innit?”
And the mad part? She said yes.
Because happiness isn’t about perfect scripts. It’s about someone who doesn’t do your head in.